


Cockles in Rome

by ratherbehere



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Barebacking, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, jibcon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-05-14
Packaged: 2017-12-11 19:35:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratherbehere/pseuds/ratherbehere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen doubted Misha's riding skills in front of the entire audience at the Jus in Bello con in Rome. Misha is set on proving how good he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cockles in Rome

Jensen hits the bed with an oompf and looks up at Misha with surprised eyes. He begins to ask Misha just what he has in mind, just where this is going, when Misha speaks up.

“Shut it Ackles,” Misha commands, crawling on the bed till he is aligned with Jensen’s body. He holds himself above Jensen and though it just barely does not bridge the gap between them, Jensen’s body feels even hotter for it. “What the fuck was that? Questioning my riding skills?” Suddenly the gap between them is shut as Misha grinds his denim clad pelvis down into Jensen’s. It’s rough and needy, both careless and careful, and Jensen is already seeing stars.

“Gonna prove me wrong?” Jensen asks with a smirk, his hands gripping Misha’s hips tight, holding him down where they now meet.

“That’s the plan,” Misha growls.

Misha pushes their lips together, teeth clacking with the force of it. As he tries his best to suck the air out of Jensen’s lungs, he leans up and back, taking Jensen with him. His hands scramble down Jensen’s back, grabbing fists full of his shirt, and he breaks the kiss suddenly as the shirt is ripped overhead, buttons be damned. He quickly shucks his own shirts next before shoving Jensen backwards into the bed again.

Before Jensen can process the sudden change of perspective on the room again, Misha is sucking a hickey straight into his abs while nimble fingers work quickly and efficiently at his fly. His pants and boxers are pulled up and over his erection and removed sharply in one go. Somehow in the process, Misha manages to get another hickey sucked into his thigh.

Jensen reaches for his cock and gives it a few strokes while Misha strips his own pants off and grabs the lube from the nightstand. He doesn’t get many pulls in before Misha is straddling him again, batting his hand away to grind their pelvises together one more time. Misha’s cock slides both slick and rough alongside his own, and the feel of it is magnificent.

Misha pops the lid on the bottle of lube, coats his fingers, props himself up on his left arm on Jensen’s chest, and reaches back to slide his fingers in to himself. Jensen can’t see the penetration, but he can see Misha’s face, and the man looks positively sinful with pleasure and need. Misha works himself quickly while Jensen’s hands come up to his hip bones again. With a little encouragement, Misha begins to rock, and their cocks bump and grind teasingly with the motion.

“Fuck,” Misha mumbles, “Why does this part always take so long?”

It’s been at most two minutes, but Jensen totally understands the sentiment.

When Misha finally pulls his fingers out, grabs Jensen’s cock to line himself up, and slides down, they both groan with the pleasure of finally being connected, finally being complete.

“Fucking needed this,” Jensen mumbles, his fingers digging bruises into Misha’s hips as he helps him shift and grind. He’s not worried about the bruising, as Misha’s hands come up to wrap around his own, helping him pull himself on Jensen’s cock. “You were practically groping me on stage.”

Misha smiles at the memory. A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. “You gyrated for me.”

“You coerced me into giving you a gift.”

“You gave me flowers.”

“You told bad jokes.”

“You _laughed_ ,” Misha said with a smile and a huff and a sudden sharp thrust down.

“Jesus,” Jensen mumbled throwing his head back. “Fucking hell Misha. Ride me. Harder, harder babe.”

Misha takes his grip on Jensen’s hands and, keeping them locked together, brings them up above Jensen’s head. It shifts his angle ever so slightly, and the desire increases tenfold. Jensen groans long and hard as the position also allows him greater movement and a faster pace. Their bodies are hot and sticky with sweat, and Misha bends down to lick at the saltiness pooling at Jensen’s neck. They’re aborted little kitten swipes, as Misha is moving too hard and fast to really focus on it.

Jensen tries to let Misha have complete control, doesn’t remotely fight Misha holding his hands down, but as the pressure builds and the pleasure spirals, he finds that he has planted his feet on the bed and is thrusting up into Misha while Misha thrusts down to meet him.

“Mish, Mish,” Jensen pants, seeking Misha’s lips. He’s rubbing his tongue alongside Misha’s when he finally loses it, pushes up one final time, and comes hard. Misha makes a sound into his mouth, freezes, and Jensen feels wetness paint his stomach.

The kiss breaks and Jensen’s hands are freed as Misha rolls to Jensen’s side, breathing hard and completely boneless.

“I think that makes my point,” Misha says when he can speak somewhat normally again.

Jensen smirks. “I don’t know cowboy, I may need another demonstration.”

Misha laughs. “You’re the cowboy, Ackles. In fact, I think it’s time you prove to me how you got those bowlegs.”

Jensen has absolutely zero energy, his body feels like jelly and is tingling happily in all the right ways, but he still summons up enough strength to roll over Misha and straddle him. “Don’t question my riding ability, Collins.” Misha beams up at him.

Rome is theirs, and they are going to make the most of it.


End file.
